


Sleepless in Henrietta

by justdk



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Fluff, M/M, pre-rovinsky, rovinsky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-08
Updated: 2019-06-08
Packaged: 2020-04-12 14:29:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19133938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justdk/pseuds/justdk
Summary: In which Kavinsky can't get a good night's sleep and it's all Ronan's fault





	Sleepless in Henrietta

_KERAH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!_

Kavinsky jolted awake, his heart kicking hard in his chest, his body obeying a hardwired instinct that pulled him into a defensive crouch with his back to the wall.

His breath sounded loud in his ears and he blinked rapidly, trying to get his tired eyes to function and find out what the fuck was dying in his room.

No one was there. No one except Ronan.

Ronan was curled up in an oversized beanbag, his back to Kavinsky and his headphones clamped over his ears. From this angle Kavinsky couldn’t tell if he was awake or asleep but either way he looked undisturbed by the cry that had startled Kavinsky out of his nightmare.

Maybe the sound had only been in his dream.

Kavinsky grabbed a random bottle from the bedside table and choked down half of it. He almost spit it back up. _Warm beer_. He grimaced and stuck his tongue out, half gagging around the taste.  _Guinness._ He glared at the back of Ronan’s shaved head.

This time he checked the label of the clear bottle he found tucked behind the brown and green glass. _Mike’s Hard Lemonade_. One of Proko’s most likely, though the mouth of the bottle was smudged with an unfamiliar shade of lipstick. Kavinsky shrugged and drank it anyway.

Finished with his nightcap, Kavinsky sprawled back on the bed but that was no good. He flopped on his side, then his other side. He squeezed his eyes shut and thought sexy thoughts about all his favorite boys. Half asleep he rolled over and pulled his body pillow into a strangling embrace, his mind drifting off to hazy memories of fucking and being fucked.

He had just reached the sweet spot of sliding into sleep when—

_KERAH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!_

“WHAT THE FUCK,” Kavinsky yelled in frustration, jerking upright and glaring at the room.

“Shhhh,” Ronan said.

Kavinsky stared at Ronan’s back. _Did Ronan just shush him?_

“Shhh shhh shhh,” Ronan cooed fondly. “Here, you greedy bastard.” There was a disgusting gulping noise. “Jesus, not so fast, you’ll choke. And I don’t know CPR.”

“What the fuck,” Kavinsky repeated. He crawled off the bed and moved to stand in front of Ronan.

He wasn’t sure what he had expected but the thing in Ronan’s hands was not it, though it did have a nightmarish demonic look to it.

Ronan petted it and clucked his tongue softly before carefully holding a grey glob in front of the creature. An improbably large beak opened and the thing scarfed down the goo. Loudly.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” Kavinsky muttered and looked around for a trashcan.

Ronan was so engrossed in his project that he hadn’t noticed Kavinsky, not until Kavinsky kicked his ankle.

Ronan raised his head slowly; the look in his fierce blue eyes was decidedly uncivil. Just the way Kavinsky liked it. He deigned to slide his headphones off one ear and scowled.

“What’s up?” Ronan asked. His soft, cooing voice was gone.

“What is that?” Kavinsky asked, pointing at the moving, lethal-beaked thing in Ronan’s palm.

“A bird,” Ronan said tersely. His fingertips stroked feathers, describing a shape that Kavinsky had been unable to see before. Beak, head, back, wings, tail. The bird was so small that everything about it looked unreal. Kavinsky crouched down in front of Ronan, his pale, bony knees bumping against Ronan’s. The bird hissed at him. Ronan smiled proudly. “She doesn’t like you.”

“Man, fuck your bird,” Kavinsky slurred, waving his middle finger at the tiny avian form.

Ronan smacked his hand away and frowned. “Watch your fucking language,” he growled.

“Kerah!” the bird chimed in.

Kavinsky gaped at Ronan and his annoying bird.

“Are you shitting me?” Kavinsky asked. “Seriously? You just fucking swore.”

Ronan placed his large palm over the bird, almost like he was covering its ears. Did birds have ears? Kavinsky didn’t like thinking about bird anatomy. He didn’t like having a squawking bird in his bedroom, either.

“You’re a bad influence,” Ronan said, completely ignoring his own hypocrisy.

“The door,” Kavinsky drawled, pointing an unsteady finger behind him, “is that way, sweetheart.”

Ronan ignored that, too. “I can’t go home, man. Gansey’s insomnia’s been worse than usual. He needs all the uninterrupted sleep he can get.”

Kavinsky’s eye twitched. “What the fuck. If he’s already awake then he’s not gonna mind this thing’s death cries. Anyways, God forbid your master should lose any sleep,” he said nastily.

Ronan flipped him off and cuddled the bird to his chest. It was a surprisingly tender gesture. It reminded Kavinsky of the times he saw Matthew and Ronan together on campus, of the way Ronan’s posture relaxed and his expression softened around his little brother. He’d seen Ronan laugh at something Matthew had said and ruffle his hair. One time he pulled Matthew into an affectionate headlock and kissed the top of his head while Matthew flailed and giggled. Kavinsky was sure Ronan had no idea he was being observed or otherwise he would have kept his walls up. It was those rare, spied moments that had shown Kavinsky that Ronan had walls at all; that his brash, brawling, street-racing reputation wasn’t all there was to him. It felt like having insider information so he had never told anyone, especially not Ronan.

Now he watched as Ronan doted on the little bird, feeding it and talking softly. He swore affectionately and booped the bird on its massive beak. It made Kavinsky roll his eyes while also feeling a bit heartsore.

“What’s its name?” he asked Ronan, prodding him more for attention than out of any real interest.

Ronan glanced up, his bloodshot eyes rimmed with dark shadows. “Her name is Chainsaw,” he said. His tone challenged Kavinsky to say something about it.

Kavinsky nodded. He’d never had a pet or familiar, unless you counted Prokopenko.

“I’m not letting you name our child,” Kavinsky teased, testing the waters.

Ronan snorted. “You with children? That’s a terrifying thought that’ll keep me up at night.”

“An entire army,” Kavinsky went on. “I’ll pop ‘em out of my head like Zeus. _Uno, dos, tres_. Not babies or toddlers, but proper little humans to run around and do what I say.”

“Uh-huh.” Ronan scooched back, getting horizontal and cradling the bird in the center of his chest. His eyelids drooped as his entire body went slack. “What’ll you name them?” Ronan asked sleepily. “Thing 1 and Thing 2?”

Kavinsky studied the sharp lines of Ronan’s collarbones, the dark slashes of his tattoo, and his strong, lean arms. He looked longingly at Ronan’s lips and the jut of his Adam’s apple. Forbidden fruit, all of it, but there was no harm in looking.

“Well, they’ll be named after their daddy, of course,” Kavinsky said, nudging Ronan’s leg with his foot. “Ronan 1 and Ronan 2.”

Even with his eyes closed, Kavinsky could see Ronan rolling his eyes. His lips twitched. “Weirdo,” he muttered. “I would call them Toxic and Rampage.”

“Badass,” Kavinsky agreed. He was pleased that Ronan was playing along. Ronan must have been nearly drunk with sleep deprivation to let this exchange continue; most of the time he immediately shut down such talk, even if it was just a joke.

“So,” Kavinsky said carefully, “you’re sleeping here?”

Ronan blinked one eye open. “Yeah. I told you.” He yawned widely, jaw popping and exhausted tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. “She keeps Gansey up.”

Kavinsky sighed. “You know… I have a queen-sized bed.” Ronan opened both eyes and gave him a suspicious look. “It would be more comfortable than the beanbag,” Kavinsky added, trying to look innocent and failing.

“No,” Ronan said simply. “I’ve seen your sheets. Now shut up and let me sleep.”

“Bitch,” Kavinsky replied, patting Ronan’s thigh before getting up to crawl back in bed.

“Asshole,” Ronan muttered.

Kavinsky grinned into his pillow and slept soundly through the rest of the night.

**Author's Note:**

> might write more of this?? 
> 
> you can find me on tumblr @dkafterdark


End file.
